The Other
by Timewalkerauthor
Summary: One month after Parasite Eve II, Pierce discovers another Neo Human...but does he know it? Aya's curiosity may get the best of her yet. What does it mean for humanity? CHAPTER FIVE NOW UP!
1. Chapter One

Author's Note: The customary thing to do seems to be to give a disclaimer saying what I own and what I do not, etc. etc. Well, I own nothing. Zilch. Nada. Not even this computer. I do own the character of Jack, though he's not in chapter one. Squaresoft owns Parasite Eve, though I admit to owning a copy. This is set about one month after Kyle meets Aya and Eve at the Museum at the end of PEII. My first posted fic anywhere, ever, though not my first written (No you may not read the others), so please review and soon. Thanks! Hope you enjoy. (Now, enough for one night!)   
  
  
  


Pierce sat at a terminal, blinking wearily, and brushed back a strand of hair. Never in his life had he considered just how big America really was-and now, he wished he hadn't. Approximately two hundred and eighty million people lived between Maine and Los Angeles, if he had his numbers correct, and every last one of hem, it seemed, had marched through his computer's RAM. "Definitely time for some sleep," he mused, and paused for a loud yawn. "Or at least another cappuccino-the breakfast of workaholics everywhere."

It wasn't really their fault, he admitted to himself for the thousandth time. Ninety-nine percent of the country had no idea of what he was doing, and only a very few people among those who did know had any idea of the potential danger there was in leaving the job undone. Strange that such a serious matter she be conducted by only one person-more strange, though, that it should all be done as a favor to a friend.

Pierce's "job"-he had actually caught himself using that word in his own thoughts, and chided himself for it-seemed simple enough on the surface: Profile Americans according to medical data. Look for certain criteria that would indicate a certain condition, more rare than any other on the planet. A condition that, so far, existed in only two people-and one of those was doubtful. As an aside to this endeavour, he had a separate system on the Net at all times, trolling the news and the rumours for other indicators, things the medical search might not reveal. For this condition, rare as it was, was one that tended to make itself known in the most spectacular of ways.

Pierce was searching for Neo Humans.

So far the only known Neo Humans in the world were two young women of Pierce's acquaintance, both now living in New York City. The first was Aya Brea, former NYPD detective, more lately of the FBI, MIST unit. In most towns, if you mentioned that name, a hush of awe, tinged with fear and uncertainty, would fall over the room; but if you mentioned it in New York, you would hear admiration and pride, as well. Aya was the heroine of what had commonly come to be called the "Manhattan Blockade Incident" of 1997, an event which resulted in hundreds of deaths, the loss of the Statue of Liberty, and the destruction of several pieces of very expensive Navy hardware. Also an event which Aya had single-handedly brought to an end-no one on the streets could tell you how, but everyone knew there was mystery about it. Hence, the admiration and the fear.

The other Neo Human was even more mysterious, and thankfully, less well known. Her name was Eve Brea, and she ostensibly was Aya's sister, the child of Alex Brea's second marriage. In truth, her origins could be found in a now-ruined underground shelter and laboratory in the Nevada desert, where she had been cloned from Aya's own DNA, for purposes sinister to the point of defying words. Aya had rescued her from that shelter, then effectively adopted her, using Pierce's contacts and skills to give her an identity she could live with. At the moment, as Pierce was yawning three time zones away, she was dragging herself from bed to dress for school.

Eve, strangely enough, remembered little of her life before Aya and her rescue from the shelter. Time and healing had clouded her memory, and for that Aya was grateful. Better that it be forgotten forever...

Pierce knew all about that, and found himself thinking about it as he sat back in has chair and regarded the screen. He hadn't been in Manhattan, but he had been in Dryfield, Nevada, and the images of the ANMCs that had attacked him kept running through his mind, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. Then Aya had come along with here strange powers....

It all came down to the cells, in the end. Bored, he pulled up a graphic which he had seen a thousand times, a series of electron microscope photos of a human cell, with cutaways showing the cellular structure. Nucleus...membrane...Mitochondria...

Mitochondria. Capital M. There was the problem. The had the power to generate tremendous power by combining ATP from the simple sugars-in fact, mitochondria were the powerhouses of the cell, providing the energy necessary for functioning. Imagine everyone's surprise when it was discovered that mitochondria were not at all part of the body, but were a separate organism! In Manhattan, a mutant strain of Mitiochondria with a phenomenal evolutionary rate had possessed-there was no other word for it-the body of an opera star named Melissa Pearce, and thus was born a being named Eve. This Eve was powerful and cunning, and with her Mitochondria under control and working together, had been deadly.

Aya possessed the same strain of Mitochondria, but somehow, in her, they had taken a symbiotic route instead of a parasitic-thus the term Neo-Humans, those with the Mutant (or Neo-) Mitochondria, but who had not been taken over by them, as with the first Eve. Thus, Aya retained control of herself, but had power as phenomenal as Eve's. The younger Eve, too, had had those powers, but had lost them after her rescue, and was now as normal as any other teenager.

For Aya, though, it wasn't enough. To make a long story short, one night, she had told Pierce that her goal was to make sure that nobody like her could ever turn into anyone like Eve (the first Eve, that is). The logical first step in that process was to find any potential Neo Humans, before their powers could manifest. That unloveable task had come down to Pierce somehow.

A sudden beeping yanked him away from slumberland. He glanced at one of his terminals, then the other, then found the offending source. "Probably just someone with high natural mitochondria," he mused as he moved to check it.

His eyes slowly widened as he read, and he dropped a steaming mug of cappuccino on the floor-but in his excitement, he didn't even notice. The incoming signal was from the news search, not the medical! Still, it was something, and it looked good. Grabbing the phone, he scratched down some data, then dialed as fast as he could. Six A.M. or not, Aya had to hear about this, and NOW.

The voice un the other end was fuzzy from sleep, but beautiful as always, Pierce thoght briefly. "Wazzat? Who is it?"

"Aya, it's Pierce. Come on, wake up." He shifted in the chair, propping the receiver on his shoulder, and reached for the dropped mug and the thermos of coffee-this time, straight and black.

"Pierce? Watchyouwant?" came the slurred replay.

He swallowed nervously. "Aya, you're not going to believe this, but...well, we have a live one. Powers and all."

There was no sound except the quiet thump of a woman's hand dropping a phone as she slid toward the floor.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

Author's note: Parasite Eve is not mine. Wish I had thought of it first, but if I had, you probably would never have been able to play it as a game-who can afford to produce one of those? Squaresoft still owns everything but Jack Carter and the town of Taylor's Canyon, which to the best of my knowledge is not coincidental with any real town. If it is, well, too bad-accidents, my friend. Anyway, this is chapter two of what should prove to be a much longer work-if you didn't read chapter one, you can still understand it, but I hope you'll read it anyway. Read & Review, and enjoy!

  
  
  
  
  
  


Chapter Two

  
  
  
  


Aya Brea was not usually a distracted person. One didn't make it as a detective, let alone an FBI agent, by being inattentive; that was the obvious truth, and Aya lived up to it every day. Yet, as Kyle Madigan rambled on, she suddenly realized that she hadn't really heard the last five or so sentences he had said-and then, with a second guilty start, she realized that this wasn't the first time in this conversation, either. But no sense trying to fake it; he was too good at reading her-so, to cover a sheepish grin, she stuffed a bite of egg into her mouth just before murmuring, "Sorry, Kyle-what was that again?"

He stared at her a moment, a quizzical look on his face. "You always talk with your mouth full?"

"Don't correct me-you're not my father," she answered, after chewing pointedly for a moment longer. "And you didn't answer me."

"Well," he began, "I was saying-if you were listening-that I might be able to finally start practicing as a PI again, here in town. But maybe, what I should have been saying was, 'are you okay?' You're a little out of it this morning, Aya. That's not like you."

She though for a long moment before answering. To his credit, he didn't press-only waited. Which in turn gave her time to consider-what was really bothering her? Pierce's call in the early morning hours? She had already made up her mind about that, even before seeing Kyle this morning-now it was just a matter of bringing it up.

No time like the present, then. "Alright. Ah...Pierce called me this morning. It's been on my mind, you know?"

Kyle frowned. "Pierce? As in, Pierce Carradine? The Pierce I never got to meet in Nevada, because he was stuck in the freezer?"

Aya grinned despite herself; that memory, of finding Pierce huddled in a corner of the Golem freezer at the shelter, always made her laugh a little despite its eerie setting. He was always one to rush in to save her, even though he was horrible in any fight... "The same Pierce."

"So, what did he want? A date? I know he had a thing for you..."

She glared at him across the table. "You can be so cruel sometimes!" Then, seeing his hurt look, she added, "Just kidding. And yes, I know he did. But he's also a good friend, and that's what this call is about-something I asked him to do for me. As a friend."

"And what would that be?" That frown again.

Aya thought carefully for a moment, trying to choose her words. Then she smiled. "He's looking for people, Kyle. Special people, if you know what I mean. People like me." Then, to make her point, she reached over to touch the wick of the unlit candle between them-and it sputtered into flame.

Kyle's eyes widened, and he glanced around the restaurant in alarm. It was a family place, with a Southern feel-rare in New York, which was why they liked it-but it was geared mainly to the dinner crowd, so it was mostly empty at nine a.m. Relieved that no one had seen, he turned back to her. "Aya, are you crazy? Be careful!"

Now her glare had a serious edge. "Why? Afraid to be with me, Kyle? Afraid I'll set something on fire, or melt some people? Or maybe I'll turn into a monster! How about maybe another-"

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry! Man, Aya, I was only trying to keep people from staring! You know people don't like what they don't understand." He shrugged. "Sorry...I...y'know..."

Despite herself, she found her momentary anger relenting. "Forget it, just forget it. Anyway, I don't want to talk about...that." She sighed, as though bone-weary; though she knew she had slept well. "Pierce has been searching the records and the news for people whose profiles indicate that they might be Neo-Humans, like me. Remember I explained all that to you? Well...last night, he found one. Maybe."

"What?" Kyle exclaimed. "Where? Who?"

"Well, we've answered "when," but you forgot "why" and "how"," Aya answered with a grin. "And those might just be the most important questions. For the Bureau, for me, even for Eve."

"The Bureau," he repeated. "I thought you were retired."

"At my age?" she quipped. "No-just on inactive. You could say leave-of-absence. So is Pierce. And to answer your questions-Texas. An oil town called Taylor's Canyon. And his name is John Carter."

"So Pierce called you in the middle of the night just to give you the name of a hick from Texas?"

"Not just a "hick from Texas," Kyle. A man with indications of Neo-Mitochondria in the symbiont form. He...well, he works miracles."

Kyle abruptly choked on his coffee, degrading into a coughing fit. "He what?" he finally managed.

"He works miracles. The locals say he...heals things. Animals with broken limbs. People with fevers. Even I can't do that! I can only heal myself. They say he stopped a brushfire without doing anything. I could do that, if I wanted to. Other things that sound like my PE skills. If this were the National Enquirer, I'd say forget it-but this is the local newspaper." She paused, then added, "Pierce thinks it's for real"

Somehow, Kyle still wasn't getting it. "So...what are you going to do about it?"

"Go talk to him!" she practically exploded. " I want to see if it's true. And...I don't want to find out that he's going to be like...like the other Eve. The first one." She suddered involuntarily at the thought.

"Okay-I'll pack right away. Let's see...I suppose we'll fly out-"

"No!" she cut him off. "I mean...I wasn't asking you to go."

Kyle drew back, surprised. "What do you mean? Aya, this could be dangerous, if he does have that power."

"I know, but...I need to go alone. Please, Kyle-don't try to protect me. I can handle myself." Now it was her turn to frown. "Besides, if he should be like Eve, I'm the only one who's ever been immune to Eve's powers."

Despite her calm tone, Kyle could see that she was adamant. Finally, he sank down a little. "If you say so. Besides, you know where to find me if you need me. So then, why did you tell me? Besides so I wouldn't worry. There has to be another reason."

"You always figure me out, don't you?" She smiled again. "I was hoping Eve could stay at your place for a few days. I don't really want to take her with me on this, either, and she needs to be in school. I can't take her to my dad in time, to still make Texas, and the only other choice would be Daniel Dollis." She grimaced at the thought. "And I don't think I want her living on pizza and Coke for a straight week, either, so that's out."

"Then how about boarding school?" Kyle joked weakly. "A week. So you'll be away awhile then. Well...I don't think that would be a problem. Although missing you might."

"What? Eve, miss me? She'll be fine." Aya grabbed her purse to search for cash for a tip.

"I was talking about me."

Five minutes later, the two were walking down a crowded sidewalk, heading for Kyle's parked car. "So, I guess right now, we'll swing by my apartment," Aya was saying, "then we'll go by Eve's school and let them know you'll be picking her up today-"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second!" he rounded on her, eyes flashing. "Today? You're leaving today?"

"So you can drive me to the airport, right?" she answered. "Sorry, Kyle-I just feel like I need to do this quickly. Something doesn't feel right, and I don't understand it. No, I need to go today. I just have that feeling, like something bad is going to happen if I don't." She shook her head, worried lines creasing her face. "Something terrible."

  
  


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Well, that's it for chapter two. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed chapter one-my first reviews ever, they just made my day...After rereading in daylight, I did discover a few mistakes, like the "blond hand" in the last line (that should say "woman's hand", and I am still trying to fix it), but it seems to be mostly okay. Don't worry-some action will be coming, along with some longer scenes. For the next week or so, though, due to the pressures of trying to graduate college, any new chapters will probably be about like this one in terms of length. But be patient-better times are coming! Thanks for your reading. -Timewalkerauthor


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: This is the third chapter of a fic called The Other, a fic based, unfortunately, on a concept which does not belong to me. Blame Squaresoft-it was their idea. However, since it continues to be a very good idea, I'll continue to write about it. All Parasite Eve credit, then, to Square, except for the by-now-famous-yet-still-invisible Jack Carter and his hometown--those belong to me, and soon you may get to see them if my plan holds out! From this point on, the chapters should get a little longer--school has ended now, so my time is a little more free. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Chapter Three  
  
  
  
  
  


It wasn't as though she planned to fall asleep; it just sort of happened that way. She wasn't one to sleep in class anyway, and especially not history-it was her favorite subject, which was no surprise, since she lacked one for herself. But maybe it was the late night last night (she had stayed up with Aya to watch a movie), or maybe it was that pre-algebra test ("stupid variables!")that had done it; no matter the reason, though, she just couldn't hold her head up any longer. So, right in the middle of the Battle of New Orleans, Eve Brea found her head sliding toward the desk and a warm, quiet darkness.

The junior high classroom was always quiet; Mr. Duncan ran a tight ship. But now it faded into a silence so dead, Eve could hear her own distant breathing, rhythmic and slow. She could hear her heartbeat, as well; and one rhythm more, one she couldn't identify, but had always known, however subconsciously. A soft swish, reminiscent more of the waves of the ocean-she remembered the beach, from the shores near L.A.-than of a heart or breath, but to Eve it seemed right now that it had an undertone, a buzz that made her swallow back a little apprehension. Not fear, precisely; just a strange feeling of anticipation, mixed with coldness. Eve didn't know the word Mitochondria, but if she had known and understood it, she would have connected it to that rhythm right away.

Funny; it didn't feel like sleeping to her. She knew that was what she was doing, just as readily as she knew that her hands still worked. Yet she felt awake, alert, ready for action-with a start, she realized she was already standing. But where...? For the schoolroom was gone, and in its place was a landscape she didn't recognize, a landscape of beaten, dusty earth spread with scraggly grass, with no mountains and no skyscrapers (the only horizons Eve had ever known) to block the view. The sky was cloudy, overcast, yet the clouds didn't look like they would bring rain; they were nearly yellow, much the same color as the dry ground. Wheel ruts ran everywhere, forming a spider's web of dry channels among the large metal frames that dotted the area. On some, huge hammerlike beams worked up and down, moving cables and bars; on others, tall upright gantries supported long pipes coated with a black, viscous substance. Eve had never seen oil before, let alone crude oil. In the distance, she could see a tall chain-link fence surrounding the entire area; beyond that, there was nothing but land and sky, save for a distant cluster of buildings, which were far enough away to blur into the horizon. Shadows played across the ground, cast by dim light drifting through the few thin breaks in the clouds.

Eve began walking, aimlessly, though generally toward the nearest oil derrick. She could hear the rough groan of its pumps and joints, louder as she approached; it was the only sound to be heard. For a girl most recently accustomed to the city with all its noises, it sent cold chills down her spine. At the same time, that third rhythm, the one she knew yet didn't, was growing stronger.

Now it was coming from around her as well as inside her. It was faster as it grew in the air around her, and somehow...resonating was the only word that fit. Like it was trying to split in two somehow...

Eve whipped her head around, a bolt of dread flashing through her-she was sure there had been someone behind her. Now on the other side-she whipped around again. That noise...The sky was getting darker. She was under the first derrick now. A wind had begun to rise as she crossed under it, and it swayed above her, creaking threateningly.

Two men stepped out of the darkening shadows on either side of the derrick. Eve couldn't see their faces, but she had the feeling that they were the source of the resonance she was feeling in that rhythm. One pulsed with nearly the same tempo as she herself, and that one was of normal stature and shape; the other beat a more malevolent counterpoint, and was monstrous and shadowy, and its shape refused to resolve itself in her mind. They advanced slowly toward her, one walking on worn cowboy boots that parted the dying grass, the other on clawed feet that crushed it. Eve instinctively shrank away from that one, though unable to look away from it, eyes wide, a scream working its way toward her mouth. As it came onward, she could hear her heartbeat racing faster, overwhelming the other pulse, racing...  
  


...Eve jerked upright at her desk, a shriek of fright escaping her lips, as the last bell rang. Her entire history class stared at her, mouths agape, as she realized where she was. "Ah...sorry...bad dream," she murmured, her face turning red.

"Well, Eve," Mr. Duncan answered from his place by the door, "nest time try to leave the dreams at home and stay awake if you can. No harm done, though, as long as you're okay. Alright, class-dismissed, and don't forgot the reading assignment from chapter six!" He slipped into a shout as the class stampeded.

After packing up, Eve made her way a little more slowly to the door-but Mr. Duncan stopped her, and headed for it himself. "Your sister couldn't pick you up today, Eve," he said before stepping out, "or at least, that's what this note says. Anyway, she sent someone to get you." He leaned out the door frame, speaking quietly to someone in the hall.

Eve's eyes narrowed in question as Kyle Madigan's muscled form slipped in through the door. "Hey, kid--how's it going? Ah...Aya had to leave suddenly, so she asked me to pick you up. You ready?"

More ready than you know, Eve thought. Have I got questions for you.

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Kyle Madigan had dealt with a lot of strange things in his life, short though it had yet been. He had spent his early career as first a city cop-he and Aya had that in common, though he had come from Seattle rather than New York-then as a private investigator; in both jobs, twisted situations and wasted lives had been the order of the day. Even his experience as a Federal agent, a mole in MIST's operations-a situation that had eventually required a presidential pardon just to allow him to live openly-had been full of...well, surprises. But he had never before met anyone like Eve, a child who managed to amaze him every time he was with her.

In the back of his mind, he knew that she was a clone of Aya, and when he thought about it, he could see the resemblances-those that were not just physical, that is. She had Aya's cool manner of observation, noting everything around her with quick precision. She had the same relaxed-yet-ready fighter's attitude (though he couldn't see the girl ever hurting a fly), and the same desperate longing to fit in. Aya hadn't really fit in since 1997, and Eve, he feared, would never fit in. But she gave every ounce of strength to trying, and Kyle had a high respect for that.

That was not the source of today's dose of amazement, though. It was the questions the girl was firing off one after another, almost as if she had to speak her mind all at once lest she forget. Time for review later.

"Where's Aya? Is she okay? Why didn't she let me know before she left? Did she say anything about that phone call from this morning? It was Pierce, wasn't it? Do you know what he wanted? Is that why she left? And by the way, what do you know about dreams? You know, the bad k-"

"HOLD IT!" Kyle shouted, interrupting Eve long enough to allow his head to stop spinning. In his exasperation, he nearly slammed into the car in front of him before noticing that the light was red. While the car was stopped, he turned to Eve and shook his head in disbelief. "One thing at a time! First, Aya had to leave town suddenly. She had to go to Texas, and in a few hours she'll be tramping around the middle of nowhere looking for someone. Second, she's fine. Third-"

"-It's green," Eve pointed out helpfully.

Kyle's head whipped back to the front, and he hit the accelerator. "Oh! Sorry. Yeah, green. Fourth, she didn't have time to let you know, but I'm sure she'll call us later. Fifth, it was about that call, which was from Pierce Carradine, and no, I can't really explain what it was about. And last, why do you want to know about dreams? You had one?"

"In class," Eve admitted. "You probably could hear me from all the way out in the hall."

Kyle frowned. "Was it that bad?"

"Well...yeah...it's like...oh, I don't know. I can't remember now! It's fading away. Something about two men, and a heartbeat..."

His frowned deepened. "Hmm..." he mused. "Probably not anything to worry about, I suppose. You sure you can't remember it?"

"Positive. I wish I could!" She put her head in her hands, as if trying to pull the memory out. "It makes me so angry!"

Suddenly Kyle noticed that he was sweating. A glance told him that Eve was doing the same. It was hot enough outside, so he reached for the air conditioner knob...and found it already turned on. "Strange," he though to himself, and turned it up.

They passed the rest of the ride in silence, and Kyle promptly forgot the incident.

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The 757 sailed into Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport at 11:03 p.m., two minutes after schedule. Aya sighed in irritation as she stepped into the terminal; the hour was late, and all she wanted was to fall into bed. Even a shower could wait until morning. Before she could do that, though, first she had to check on her arrangements, then check on Eve. It may have been one in the morning in New York, but she was sure Kyle, at least wouldn't get any sleep until she checked in-"and I thought I moved out of my dad's house years ago,:" she mused wryly.

Pierce, it turned out, had come through after all; a dark blue Jeep Grand Cherokee, property of the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation, was waiting for her in the rental lot, by was of some peculiar string-pulling. Inside were directions to a hotel a few blocks away, and a room key. She made a mental note to call him and thank him ("tomorrow"), then tossed her carry-on and suitcase in the back. Before climbing in, she ran a hand under the driver's seat, and with a satisfied smile, pulled out an M93R handgun and shoulder holster. Feeling much safer, she slipped them on under her jacket, and set out.

On the road, she flipped open her cell phone and dialed Kyle's now-familiar number. Hard to believe that only a month ago, she hadn't even known where he was... His escape from, and disappearance from, the shelter in Nevada were still a mystery to her, but he had explained to her about his role in the entire affair as the president's mole, about his having to hide afterward because of his knowledge, and about his pardon by the current president, who was much more in favor of public knowledge of the NMC threat. Then he had showed up that day at the Museum, and after that, the days were a blur for her. And she was supposed to be the level-headed one!

A fourth ring. Then, Kyle's voice, tired but still alert. "Aya! How is it going? Are you in Texas yet?"

"I'm here, Kyle," Aya replied, pausing to change lanes. "I'll be at the hotel in five minutes or so. How are things on your end?"

"We're holding up," he answered, a little too lightly for seriousness. "I've already corrupted Eve into eating everything you won't let her, and she looks like she might have gained a few pounds..." Muffled, feminine laughter came over the earpiece, and the sound of potato chip bags being rustled. "She also says I should call you 'uptight', or something like that. That's not very fair, I think, but-Ow!-she's twisting my arm!"

Aya laughed despite her tiredness. "Sounds like everything is normal, then. Hey, why is she still up, anyway? She has school tomorrow!"

"Wow, you really are uptight," Kyle remarked with humor in his voice. Don't worry-it was canceled. They sent notes home saying the gas line broke and has to be worked on tonight. They just shut it off for today, but they couldn't wait any longer. Besides, Ben Dollis is here, keeping her company, since you're not the only one out of town for the night."

"If you say so, " Aya relented. "He's-"

"She also had insomnia," Kyle interjected. "Something about a dream she had in class.?"

"A dream?" Aya repeated. "What kind of dream?"

" I dunno. A bad one, is all I know. With two men in it. She didn't remember anything else."

"Ah." Aya saw the hotel's gate up ahead, and began crossing traffic to get to it. "Well, hey, I'm here, so I have to go. But listen, if she has any more dreams!"

"Fine. Ah, Aya...listen, you be careful too, okay? When she...when she first tried to tell me her dream, I instantly though of you, I don't know why, but I did. You in danger. So please, be careful out there!"

"I will, I promise." She smiled at his obvious care for her welfare. "I miss you already, Kyle. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright-and I miss you too." But she was already gone.

  
  


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Well, I hope this chapter was a little longer. I know, it might seem like all talk, but I promise you, some action is coming soon. And next time, we should actually get to meet Jack! Until then, keep reviewing!


	4. Chapter Four

Author's note: Yes, I have returned, with a fourth installment of that fic which, unfortunately, happens to be based on Squaresoft's intellectual property. Only a small portion of the things herein actually belong to me, but I hope they are good ones. I apologize for the delay-I've taken time out to do a few things like play PE II again, watch the PE movie (all for research purposes, I assure you :) and get married. Just little things, right? Anyway, I hope this chapter will be enjoyable, and YES, you get to meet Jack in this installment! An apology, as well: I discovered, to my chagrin, that Kyle's birth is accounted for in PE II, so I can't assign him to Seattle as I did in chapter three. If I can get that chapter to post again, it is corrected to say that he was raised in Seattle, not born there. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  


Chapter Four  
  


Taylor's Canyon was a long way from Dallas. For that matter, it was a long way from anywhere.

Aya was not so strangely reminded of Dryfield, Nevada, as she stepped out of the jeep into the sunset light. The chief difference between the two towns was that Dryfield had been very compact, not to mention very empty, whereas Taylor's Canyon was a little more spread out, and very much populated. Lights burned in most of the visible windows, and on the porch of the nearest house, an old couple sat in an even older porch swing, no doubt talking about her. She made a mental note to herself to next time drive something a little older, and thus less conspicuous.

It had taken her all day to find the little town, even with GPS and Pierce's very detailed maps at her disposal. She didn't even want to make a guess as to just how far she really was from Dallas, but with all the wrong turns she had made, she had put several hundred miles on the Jeep. Fortunately, if anyone had to find her, they would be able to track her GPS unit, now that she was here. Though she was sweaty and tired enough to sleep like a baby, it was only seven-thirty, local time; still time enough to do a little work, unless this really was the kind of town where they rolled up the streets at night...

Start with the obvious, her father used to say. Putting on her best smile, she approached the old couple on the porch, trying to look casual. "Hello!" Good start-they didn't immediately run away. "Ah...I was wondering if maybe you could help me out. I'm looking for a man named John Carter-he's supposed to live around here. Would you know him?"

The old man stared at her for a few moments, then slowly, deliberately, turned his head and spat out a long streamer of tobacco on the dirt yard beside the porch. "Don't know no John Carter round here," he drawled.

Inwardly, Aya groaned. "Great-my first contact, and I get a walking stereotype," she thought to herself. "No one by that name lives in this town?" she continued. "I was pretty sure it was Taylor's canyon."

Fortunately, he spared her the tobacco this time. "I said, there ain't no John Carter around here. You got trouble hearin' me, or somethin?"

Aya frowned, and made as if to leave. "Alright, then-sorry to disturb you. I'll just-"

To her amazement, then, the old woman turned and slapped the man on the arm. "You cut that out, you old codger," she exclaimed, as Aya's mouth fell open. "Gotta cause trouble, don't you? She means Jack Carter, out in the oil village, little Melanie's daddy, and you know it. What's got into you?" Seemingly satisfied, she turned back to Aya. "Young lady, don't you mind him. I don't, least not until he has somethin' to say. Listen, the man you're looking for goes by Jack, not John, though that is his real name. I can't tell you right where he lives, because he lives down on the oil village, and we don't get down there much anymore-but maybe somebody else could. You follow?"

"I think so," Aya said, managing not to stutter in her shock. "The oil village?"

"That's right. You knew this was an oil town, right? Well, the oil village is the end of town where most of the oilmen live. It's off by itself so that if there's trouble on a rig, they can all get there quick, you see? It's about a mile down that road." She pointed off to the south. "But I don't suggest you go down there tonight-it's Friday, and, well, you know how some people get when it's payday. A little bit...out of hand, huh? Jack ain't like that, but do yourself a favor, and stay out of the village til tomorrow anyway. You got a room?"

"Yeah. The Black Gold motel." Aya hiked a thumb back toward a long, low building up the street.

"Not real bad. But listen, before you go." She paused, as if thinking.

"Yes?"

The old woman cleared her throat uncomfortably. "You ain't another of them...journalists, are you? Reporter types?"

Realization suddenly sank in, and she remembered where Pierce had found this tip. "No, not at all."

"Good, good. 'Cause I was gonna tell you, if you was, to stay away from Jack Carter. That man don't need no more pushin' in on his private business. He's a good man, and he don't need no trouble." She laughed, then, a dry scratching sound. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't have told you so much. But you, you just seem...I can't help trusting you."

"You have been a help to me. Thank you!"

* * *

Never one for taking advice, Aya headed for the village almost as soon as she was out of sight of the old couple-fortunately, the light was going faster than she had expected, so she doubted they saw her course. "Besides," she said to herself as she pulled off the street to park, "I think I should be able to take care of myself just fine."

That was before she stepped into the first bar.

Aya wasn't a drinker-a bad experience at a high school prom, years before, had cured her of that temptation long since. As a cop she had been in any number of bars, for any number of reasons, but never one in a place like this-and it was a far cry from anything she had seen in New York or L.A. The instant she stepped through the swinging doors, she was assaulted by a wave of country music turned up too loud, bolstered by the reek of spilled beer and human sweat. An instant later, the music was overcome by a crash of breaking glass, and she leaped aside as a muscular bouncer, blood streaming from a cut on his shoulder, hustled an angry young man out the door. From outside, there was a heavy thud, then the bouncer came back in, wiping his arm. "Sorry 'bout that, lady," he muttered apologetically. "You alright?"

"For now," she answered. "Is it always like this on Fridays?"

"Nah," he replied, giving her a wry smile, "some nights it's worse. This is a good one." With that, he headed toward the bar. Aya shrugged, then followed.

There was a small dance floor, and it was crowded with a dozen or more couples doing a drunken version of some line dance that was at least ten years out of date. The rest of the floor space was filled with tables and booths and people in various states of drunkenness-most of them were still awake and ambulatory, but Aya guessed that that condition was on its way out for the evening. Most of the men, she noticed, were, if not large, at least well-muscled, which made sense in an oilmen's village. There was a generous group of women scattered in among them, as well. The bar itself was crowded, as well, but Aya managed to find a seat at one end. Maybe the bartender, at least, would be sober enough to help her.

"Something light," she ordered when he came over-not that she intended to touch whatever it was; even if she had been one to drink, she needed her wits of she was going to find this Jack. A steaming-cold glass of amber liquid materialized in front of her, and she murmured her thanks (none too heartfelt, though; the glass smelled like the inside of Daniel Dollis' police locker in midsummer). So as to not look too suspicious, she gave it a few long minutes, just sitting, rather than trying the bartender right away.

The thought of Daniel made her smile despite herself. Her former partner would love this place, were he here; he would have found at least a dozen laws busy being broken, and would have had enormous fun busting up the place before hauling everyone in. It wasn't that he was violent; he just really, really got into whatever he was doing. But bars in particular rubbed him the wrong way, and Aya knew why: it was just a matter of time before his son, Ben, would be old enough to have to deal with that problem. Daniel was more determined than ever now to raise his son right, since Lorraine had died, back in the Manhattan Blockade Inci...

She snapped back to reality, short-circuiting the irrational twinge of guilt that started to come up. That had been Eve's doing, not hers, and the fact that she carried similar mitochondria meant nothing. Nothing.

It was late enough. As the bartender passed by her again, wiping down a glass, she stopped him with a raised finger. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Jack Carter-you know him?"

"Jack Carter? Yeah, I know him. You with that paper or somethin'?"

Apparently, that report must have made waves in town. "No, I just need to talk to him. Not for any paper. Where could I find him?"

The bartender snorted laughter. "Not here, that's for sure. That man's clean as a whistle-he wouldn't set foot in a place like this. You'll have to get him at home, over on Whitestick Road."

Aya frowned. "How do I get there from here?"

"Simple enough. Go on down three houses, take a left, then the second right. He's the only house on that road-can't miss it." He pointed the general direction, then went back to his glass.

"Thanks a lot." Aya left some cash on the bar, then started toward the door.

Halfway there, a particularly fragrant-and particularly drunk-patron intercepted her. "Well, looky here," he growled, his face twisting into a smile that showed a distinct lack of teeth.

"Great," Aya thought. "Just what I need-another cliche." She glanced back at the bar, but the overmuscled bouncer was nowhere to be seen; probably still dressing his injury in the bathroom. She'd have to handle this on her own. "Nice to meet you," she answered, then started around the man.

As expected, he moved to stay in front of her. "Wanna dance, babe?"

"No thanks, and I'm not your babe. Now if you don't mind..."

"I do mind." He caught her arm as she tried to slip past him. "I'm in the mood to dance, and I think you are too."

She smiled. "Then you don't know me, do you? I don't dance with strangers." The reek of the guy's breath...

"I think you do!" He made to grab her other arm-and that was it. Suddenly the bar, the heat, the smell, it all seemed to close in on her. It didn't matter that the guy was only, in his mind, being social, or that he would probably pass out in a minute anyway. It didn't matter that he didn't even know her name, or mean her any harm. It was just TOO MUCH!

Aya twisted around the second grab and stiffened her hand, then jabbed upward into the guy's open armpit. The pain must have been exquisite, because it seemed to sober him up instantly. Before he could do anything, though, she rammed her knee into his stomach, making him double over; then she brought her elbow down hard on the back of his head. He hit the floor in a heartbeat, lights out.

Before she could catch her breath, there was a strangled growl of surprise. Another young man, apparently from the first's table, was getting to his feet. "That chick just beat up Joey!" he exclaimed, shock painting his words. He started toward her. "Chick or not, you're gonna get hurt for that!"

Aya's mind was racing-the last thing she needed was a fight with a bunch of drunks. One might not be so bad, but if they all got fired up, she might not get out of here...what she needed was a way to short-circuit this before it came to that.

The answer came before she could stop it, and she felt the mitochondrial power building.

She raised her hand, and the guy stopped moving as if he had hit a brick wall. No-it was more like a tractor beam of some sort; he was pinned in place in mid-step, fists still balled, arms still trying to rise. Shock now painted his face, as well. Aya shifted the focus of her power, just slightly, and felt the mitochondria in the man's own body respond. A sweat broke out on his face as his body temperature rose a few degrees. "What is this crap?" he cried out.

"You don't look well," she declared, still holding her hand up. From the corners of her eyes, she noticed that a healthy space had formed around them. "You have a fever, maybe?"

"I ain't never been sick-this is crazy!" he shouted. His eyes darted now, bewildered.

"Maybe you should go home and get some sleep," she said, almost soothingly. "Or better yet, maybe you should just sleep here." She clamped down suddenly with her power, and the man's eyes closed at once. Still holding on, she lowered him gently to the floor, then released him. He was already snoring.

She lifted her eyes to the crowd-and almost jumped. Their reaction was nothing like what she expected. Most people that saw her power at work got frantic, or panicky; no one ever just stood there. But that was what the entire room was doing-not talking, not panicking, just standing quietly. No surprise was evident on their faces; some of them almost looked bored.

"I think you'd better leave now," the bouncer said from the bar; apparently she had been right, as he now sported a large bandage.

"Yeah," she muttered, then slowly started for the doors. Her mind was still racing, though. There were only two explanations for what had just happened, or rather, failed to happen. One was that they didn't recognize what she had done; two was that they had seen it before.

The though filled her with dread and excitement. They had seen it before.

* * *

Jack Carter's front porch. Nine-twenty-three p.m.

Aya had taken some time to wash up at the motel before coming here; it had also allowed her to ponder over what she had seen at the bar. In the end, she could reach no other conclusion. On the bright side, if she was correct, then Pierce had found her the best lead of her life; on the other hand, though, she had no way to know what that meant. Still, she had to press on; she only hoped that it wasn't too late at night to call on the man in question. The thought of sleeping on this was unbearable. She knocked on the door.

There was a short pause, then a rustling of curtains at the window to her left; then the sound of a bolt sliding back. The door opened a foot or so, and Aya was face to face with a well-tanned, sandy-haired man in jeans and a faded grey, long-sleeved shirt. He looked to be in his early thirties, though his face had the ruggedness characteristic of anyone whose work is outdoor and hard. "Can I help you?"

"Jack Carter?"

"That's me," he answered, not unkindly. "And you are..."

"Aya Brea," she answered, offering a hand. After a moment, he shook it, though briefly. "Federal Bureau of Investigation, but I'm not here on business, Mr. Carter." His gaze was very intent now, very...penetrating. Almost as if he was reading her face. "I'd like to talk to you, if I could."

He frowned, and the sense of examination Aya was feeling broke off. "About what?"

Aya fished in one of her pockets, and brought up a folded sheet of fax paper. She unfolded it, revealing a copy of the article on Jack from the local paper, faxed to her by Pierce. "Do you recall this article, Mr. Carter?"

All traces of congeniality instantly vanished from his face. "Ma'am, I really don't think I have the time to talk about that now. I appreciate you coming out here and all, ut I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. Have a good night." Before she could say anything else, the door slammed in her face, and the bolt shot home. She heard the click of a second lock, as well.

"Well, of all the..." She smacked the doorpost in frustration, then headed for the Jeep.

* * *

Jack stumped back through the house, hardly breathing. What he sensed in that woman...

"Dad? Who was that?" Melanie called from the couch, where she was watching tv.

"Nobody, Melanie," Jack replied as he paused in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. "Just another reporter. I ran her off." He looked over at his daughter, sprawled out on the couch, dark hair spilling back over the armrest. The image of her mother...he sighed, and turned back to the table.

Taking his seat, he examined the cage again. Inside was a white rabbit, speckled around its forelegs with grey-or at least, that's what it had been. Mike Anderson from Site 3 had brought it over an hour or so ago, promising to come back tomorrow. Jack sighed again as he looked at it; the poor thing was clearly taken with the NMC mitochondria, though Jack hadn't known the term "NMC" until the woman came to his porch, a minute ago. He knew it now, though, and that disturbed him.

The rabbit squirmed inside the cage, its distended body really too long for the surroundings. Wicked fangs protruded from its mouth, and it stared at Jack through frightened eyes-four of them, to be precise. It began thrashing as he reached toward it, and he felt a pang of pity for it; he could help it, but he knew it would be painful for the animal. As if what had already occurred wasn't painful, though.

His hands began to glow, and the animal quieted down, though its eyes got wider. The changes began, slowly but surely, as the fangs retracted. Soon, the animal was back to normal-small, white, only two eyes, and sleeping, though raggedly.

Jack thought that was how he would be sleeping tonight, as well.

  
  
  
  


Well, after the longest hiatus in history, here is chapter four. I hope you like it-hey, even if not, I just hope all my readers actually come back! Thanks for patience. Now that life has slowed down a little (finally!) I can write more. What do you think of Jack so far? Not much exposure to him, I know, but maybe enough to whet everyone's appetite. Please review. Until next time...


	5. Chapter Five

Parasite Eve: The Other

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: As I have aged, I have discovered that not only do I own nothing, but also, I have never owned anything. This is true for Square Enix's intellectual property—that is to say, Parasite Eve and anything even remotely associated with it—and it is also, apparently, true for my writing time and my presence of mind. If I did own those things, I might have finished this story already. It has been a long time since I posted anything—so long, in fact, that it was Squaresoft, not Square Enix, when I last posted. But don't let that discourage you! Please read and review—read the whole story again, if you like. Enjoy!Timewalkerauthor

Taylor's Canyon at noon was like a long-lost set from a Clint Eastwood movie, Aya decided. The cloudless sky was a blue so sun-bleached that it appeared silver, unless one was foolish enough to look close by that burning orb, where the color flamed into bronze. It was at least ninety-five degrees. No pavement reflected the heat, though; this side street was actually made of dirt, dry and pitted, a relic from days past. A few tumbleweeds bounced along in a light breeze that did nothing to ease the heat. The buildings here had wooden porches, and Aya just rolled her eyes when she discovered at least three that had—another cliché—swinging doors.

The building she entered—the optimistically named Satisfaction Café—did not. More to the point, it did boast an air conditioner, which made it the lunch spot of choice for the non-working residents of Taylor's Canyon. Aya found a table along the left wall, and ordered a cup of coffee and a sandwich. The waitress took the order with a smile, which told Aya that she hadn't been in the bar crowd last night. That was a small relief, at any rate.

There were certainly enough guarded looks to go around. It was a small town, and Aya knew that the waitress was now in the minority, as to her lack of knowledge. Word traveled faster than light in places like Taylor's Canyon. At first, Aya refused to meet their stares; then, when it got to be too much, she made eye contact with one particularly grim young man—an oilman, from his appearance, but with a heavy cast on his leg to show why he wasn't working. He flinched as if she had struck him. A marvelous thing happened then: every prying eye in the room found something better to look at.

When the waitress returned, her demeanor had changed. Aya sighed; she had hoped to talk to the waitress before someone explained the situation to her. There was nothing to lose now, though; so, as the waitress tried to walk away, she stopped her. "Excuse me," she said, "do you have a minute?"

Aya watched the emotions play across the woman's face: fear, then doubt, then resignation. Through it all, the waitress glanced at the customers around her, as if seeking approval. At last she nodded. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, first, my name is Aya, Aya Brea." She held out her hand; having no other option, the waitress shook it. "Listen, um—" She looked to the waitress's blouse as if for a nametag.

"Nancy," the waitress said. "Nancy Blake."

"Nancy," Aya repeated. If she could keep the conversation going, Nancy might open up a bit. "I was wondering, Nancy, if maybe you could tell me about the town. I'm new here, you know…anyway, I'm not really sure of where I was yesterday, and I don't want to get lost." She smiled, putting as much charm into it as she could. "It's the city in me, you know. You can probably tell just listening to me that I'm from the city—New York, actually. People like me, we get lost the minute the streets don't run in blocks anymore." That was stretching the truth more than a little—her sense of direction was above average—but after last night, her image in town needed a little vulnerability. She needed some humanity to go with the superhuman. She still sounded false in her own ears, but there was nothing to do about it.

"Well…I don't know how much there is to tell you. It's not a very big place." Nancy glanced over her shoulder, then turned back. "What do you want to know?"

Aya took a second to gauge the waitress's expression. All of her prior emotions were still there, along with a look that said she felt caught in a conversation she would just as soon escape. But underneath the rest, Aya saw something else; it was fleeting, but she got the impression that if she just pushed a little harder, Nancy would spill everything she knew. Knowledge was a burden that begged to be shared—and Aya suspected that Nancy knew a lot.

She decided to be honest; lies weren't her style anyway. "The truth is, Nancy, I'm trying to find out about Jack Carter. I'm not a reporter," she added, seeing the panic rise in Nancy's eyes. "I'm with the FBI, actually, but I'm doing this on my own time. Look, you must have heard some things about me already."

People were watching them now. Aya ignored them; Nancy didn't seem to notice. The waitress was nearly trembling, staring at Aya as though she'd just prophesied the end of the world. "Is it true?" she said. "What they said about the bar last night?"

"Well, that depends on what they said." Aya held Nancy's gaze.

"They said that you stopped a fight by yourself." Now her eyes shone, a little too brightly. "With your mind. Like ESP or something."

"Then, yes, it's true. Or something. But," she paused, "you've seen this before."

Silence. "With Jack Carter." Nancy stared at her. "Haven't you?"

Abruptly, the spell broke. Nancy grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table, and scrawled something on it. "Here you go. I…I really shouldn't be talking on the job, ma'am, I'm sorry. I'll have your check up in a minute." With that, she turned and swept away into the kitchen.

Aya made a show of finishing her sandwich before reading the note; she knew that every suspicious eye in the room was still on her. When she read it, however, she couldn't suppress a smile. It said, in a script that would have been beautiful had the writer not been terrified, "Post Office—1:30—I'll talk."

Aya sat in the Cherokee with the engine running and the air conditioner on, thinking. It was twelve thirteen PM; her lunch at the Satisfaction had taken less then fifteen minutes. Suddenly tired of feeling conspicuous—it was a sensation she never got used to—she had stayed put only long enough to keep from looking furtive; then she paid her bill and hurried out. It left her nearly an hour and a half before she had to meet Nancy at the post office.

She checked her bearings to make sure that she could find that establishment; then, she pulled out her maps and started browsing. Her map of the Taylor's Canyon area was too general to be of much use, but she went over it studiously for a few minutes, fixing the town's general orientation and major streets in her mind. Not surprisingly, Whitestick Road did not qualify as a major street.

There was one useful piece if information, though: High Street. It was the "main drag," as she had already heard a few locals say, meaning the major highway through town—or more appropriately, out of town, as many a teenager had discovered over the years. Aya remembered it not for any redeeming feature of its own, but rather, because it was the location of the brushfire that Jack Carter had supposedly stopped. She had seen the scorched hillside as she drove into town the previous night; now, it intrigued her for some reason. At any rate, it was better than sitting around waiting; so, she tossed the maps into the backseat and put the Jeep in gear.

While she drove, she dialed Kyle's number. He picked up on the third ring. "Hey, Aya, how are you?"

She could hear the tired edge to his voice, and she had to smile. Life with a teenager could take its toll on anyone; life with two teenagers was a challenge for a saint. "Better than you, I think. Did the kids keep you up last night?"

"You can tell? It must be bad. No, it's mainly this licensing paperwork—remember, I told you I want to start practicing again? Anyway, it's no big deal."

"That's good to hear. Eve ran me to death the first few days she was with me, and she wasn't even close to normal."

"Yeah, she's, ah, energetic, let's say. But she's really not that bad—her or Ben, really. I'm finished with him, by the way; Daniel comes back this afternoon." He paused. "How about you? How's the great mitochondria search coming?"

"Slowly. I found the guy, but he won't talk to me. He won't even see me. But I think it must be true, Kyle—all of it."

"He won't even see you, but you're still sure? How do you know?" He sounded dubious; Aya knew that, as a PI, he had trained himself to be skeptical.

"It's not so much him that makes me think so. It's the town—the way they act. They're defensive about him, for one. They'll let me come around, but they all want to defend his privacy. If he really can do the things the article said he could, they'd want to keep him under wraps, because they benefit from him. I mean, he supposedly heals livestock, and things like that."

"Well, that would definitely be a plus out in Hicksville," Kyle said. "But as evidence goes, it's not much. Got anything else?"

"Yeah. Before I met the guy last night, I went to this bar to try to get directions. Some drunk tried to start something." She paused. " I don't know if it was the heat, or the smoke, or what, but I couldn't take it. So I stopped him."

There was more, Kyle knew. "Stopped him…?"

"With my power. I put him to sleep." She exhaled, as though the admission was a confession. "Right in front of everybody. But the strange thing is how they reacted."

"What, did they panic? I wouldn't call that strange."

"No," she said, "they didn't panic. It was exactly the opposite—like they'd seen it all before."

Kyle thought about it for a second before answering. "Well, Aya, the Manhattan Incident was on international TV, you know. Maybe they—"

"I know that," she interrupted. "When somebody sees something live, they don't react the way the do when they see it on TV. If I see an angry lion on TV, it doesn't scare me the way it probably would if I saw it coming toward me. That's how it was with these people—they weren't scared or panicked or anything. If anything, a few of them were angry."

"Alright, but how does that prove they've seen it before?"

Aya sighed in frustration. "Kyle, I know that you and I met under some pretty weird circumstances. Because of that, you took it in stride when you found out about my powers. But say you had just met me on the street for the first time, and you saw me set something on fire with my powers. No skepticism—you clearly knew it was me, and not some firebomb or something. How would you react?" She waited a moment.

Finally, he gave in. "Alright, I see your point. So they've seen it before. What's your next step, then? Arrest him and interview him? Book him on charges of illegal supernatural powers?"

She snorted. "The word we prefer is 'paranormal.' And no. It's FBI, remember? Federal Bureau of _Investigation._ So, I'll investigate some more."

"You sure it's not 'Feds Berating Innocents'?"

That one had her laughing. "Just wait 'til I get home, and you'll find out."

"Now, see, what you have in mind would require that I be innocent, and I'm not sure we can really say that."

"True." Through the windshield, she saw the blackened field up ahead on the right. "Listen, Kyle, I'm at my next stop now, so I need to go. But how's Eve doing? Any more bad dreams."

"I…ah—yeah, actually. She had another one last night. I didn't want it to worry you. It was the same dream she had before, she knows that, but she doesn't remember any more this time."

"Why should it worry me? Kids have recurring nightmares sometimes. It's nothing unusual. Just keep an eye on her, would you? Tell her I miss her."

"And I'm sure she misses you, too. Take care of yourself, Aya. You know I want to be there." He hesitated, then added, "I love you, Aya."

She swallowed the goodbye she was about to say. "I miss you too, Kyle. I'll call you later." She closed the phone, breaking the connection.

There was a complication she wasn't ready for, Aya mused as she got out of the Jeep. Kyle had used those words before—not often, but enough. For reasons she couldn't describe, she couldn't say them back. Their relationship had been short, but dramatic; she wasn't certain why. Perhaps it was because her serious relationships to date were too few—Kyle may not have been the first or the second, but in the timeline of her life, he was rubbing shoulders with the first and second. It was possible, too, that growing up without her mother had kept her from learning something basic about relationships, something that she was only learning now, as an adult. That was what she had suspected about herself throughout her time with the NYPD and the FBI.

The answer, she now thought, was simpler than any of those things: Kyle, unlike anyone else, accepted her without questions, fear, or expectations. Nothing about her fazed him, not even her powers. It had taken about five minutes after discovering her powers to begin to guard that part of her life—not so much because she cared what people knew, but because, deep down inside, she cared what they thought. From that moment on, she would never be able to turn down unconditional love.

In truth, it was that easy acceptance, that need, that frightened her so much now. After so much time spent hiding parts of herself, it was both exhilarating and terrifying to find herself so caught up—which was exactly the reason why she wouldn't, couldn't let go enough to answer him when he said he loved her.

She hoped she would overcome it.

With an effort of will, she pushed those thoughts aside, and confronted the hillside before her. From the edge of the road, the land dipped into a gully—more of a ditch, really—then rose up in a long, low wave for about a hundred yards, before cresting in a broad table of packed dirt. The land was blackened from the far bank of the gully to an uneven line about fifteen yards from the top of the rise; the burn extended about four hundred yards along the road. Aya bent down to retie her boots; then she walked out toward the middle of the field.

She stood there for a while, with the wind ruffling her hair. She noticed, after a moment, that there was no sound other than the wind; no animals stirred, no voices carried over from the town. Even the ever-present noise of the oil wells could not be heard this far away. The sun, just past its apex, beat down on her head with an almost tangible force.

The temperature had to be over a hundred degrees, she decided. It was almost as if the flames here were still burning…as if she could feel them crackling around her…

…She opened her eyes, and saw sheets of fire blazing around her. The heat was intense, although it didn't burn her—could never burn her. Fire had no power over her.

Instead, it bowed around her as she started walking toward the road.

The high grass around her was going up like stubble, hardly even smoking in its haste to burn away. In minutes the ground for yards around would be as barren as a desert. She could hear the roar of the flames as the wind, stronger now, whipped them into a frenzy, racing toward the town. Sirens carried toward her as the Taylor's Canyon Volunteer Fire Department raced to the scene—but she knew they would be too late. Over it all, there was an angry hiss, the sound of water being sprayed by one early fire truck.

She reached a certain, unremarkable point, and felt her mitochondria surge up in warning, so she stopped. A moment later, a shockwave of wind struck her from ahead, with enough force to stagger her. The fire in front of her parted into a tunnel leading to the road, and Jack Carter came walking through it. He clearly couldn't see her; at that point she realized that she was seeing a vision, not truly living the events.

It was a shock when he walked right up to her, and _into_ her, vanishing as he did so. As soon as he had done so, her perceptions twisted, and she found herself a passenger in his presence, looking out on the scene as he must see it. She felt her hands lift out to the sides, felt power gather in them—power as she had never used it, never even realized it could be used. Then, she released it into the fire.

Another shockwave burst from her—from Jack's—hands. It flared out in an expanding shell of argent light, sweeping across the whole field. The flames died down when struck, but still they burned; they would return in seconds, Aya saw. She felt Jack's face grimace in concentration, and then another shockwave exploded from him, driving the flames lower. The townsfolk would be able to see him now, from their places along the roadside. They would see what he was doing, and know. Another shockwave reduced the flames to glowing embers.

A final blast leached the last heat from the ground, leaving cold ash behind. There would be no more flare-ups. Jack sagged, and Aya found herself falling with him. Townsfolk started running toward him, fear and awe and concern all mixed on their faces. Two burly oilmen reached him first and reached to help him up—

--And Aya found herself back in her own body, standing in the middle of the empty field, with the sun still shining overhead. She had moved, she saw, to the spot where she had merged with Jack Carter; otherwise, nothing had changed. Still, she felt uneasy; something she had felt in Jack just as his two helpers reached out to him—

Greed. That was what she had felt.

Suddenly feeling vulnerable, she gathered herself, took her bearings, and hurried back to the Jeep. She felt her temperature rising as she walked, not from the mitochondria, but from simple adrenaline. Halfway to the vehicle, apprehension gave way to blind panic, and she ran.

Only when she was inside, with cool air washing over her, did her panic subside. She sat for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, not thinking at all. As the fear abated, rationality slowly returned, and it occurred to her that never in her life—never in the worst of her battles with the NMC's she hunted—had she felt anything like this overwhelming terror. For the first time, she wondered just what she had gotten into in coming to Taylor's Canyon.

There was no more time for it now, at any rate. In her reverie, nearly an hour had passed, and her meeting with Nancy was approaching. She put the jeep in gear and drove.

To pass the time, and to look a little more casual, Aya bought some stamps and envelopes, and scratched out a quick postcard to Eve. Finally she ran out of things to do, and retreated to the Jeep. She moved to a corner of the building where the clerk couldn't see her through the window, and waited, none too patiently.

Nancy Blake pulled up at nearly a quarter to two, driving—what else?—a pickup, so covered in dust that Aya couldn't make out the exact model. Come to think of it, her own Jeep was beginning to take on that aspect, as well. The woman still looked a little green as she got out, fumbling with her keys; but she saw Aya, and made momentary eye contact before going into the post office.

Aya waited. Minutes later, Nancy came out with a stack of mail in her hand; she veered toward Aya as soon as she was out of sight of the door. Aya motioned her around to the passenger seat and inside.

Nancy heaved an overly dramatic sigh of relief when the door closed. "You know, I'm not from around here, either. Minnesota, believe it or not. I can't stand this heat." She brushed her hair back from her eyes, and turned the dash vent up toward her face. "There's no such thing as fall or winter here. Come winter, it gets down in the seventies and sixties. Practically Arctic."

Aya nodded her agreement. "It's cold in New York in the winter, too. Hot in the summer, though. Tell me," she said, "was that why you were willing to talk to me when nobody else will?"

Nancy thought about the question. "Well, I guess you can say that I don't feel too much kinship with this town. It's too rough for me. My husband came here to work site mapping for new wells, you know, and I came with him. One year later, here we are, and I'm ready to get out of Dodge. So I suppose that's part of it."

"But only part."

Nancy looked at her then, for the first time since getting in. "You really are FBI, I guess. You people don't miss a trick. Anyway, yes, that's only part of it. The other part of it is that I care about Jack Carter. He's become a friend to me and my husband, so I guess you lucked out in meeting me. And, you know, everybody in town cares about him in one way or another. He does a lot of good for this town, so they ought to care about him. But they think that to care about him, they need to keep his secret. I suppose that's what he wants, too, but I don't think that's what's best."

Aya frowned. "And why is that? Why do you think he doesn't know what's best?"

"Two reasons. First, because I've watched him. I see that he doesn't really know why he can do what he does. He has some kind of power, but he's afraid to use it, because he doesn't understand it. Oh, he uses it anyway, but I think it scares him. Nobody deserves that."

"Two," Nancy continued, "it's because I know who you are."

That caught Aya off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I remember you. I didn't always live in the armpit of Texas, remember. I remember seeing you on TV. You're that cop from New York who was there when that…that thing destroyed the Statue of Liberty. The…what did they call it? The Manhattan Blockade Incident."

"You have a good memory."

"Thanks. Anyway, you tried to play it down, but I know you have some kind of power too. After last night, the whole town knows." She grinned. "I don't believe in superheroes. Superman's just a comic book, right? There can't be many ways in the world for a person to get the kind of power that Jack Carter has, and that you have too. I think you two get it from the same source. So maybe, just maybe, you can help Jack understand himself—if he'll let you."

"Doesn't seem to be much chance of that."

"I guess not. But a man like Jack, it's all in how you approach the problem. Maybe if you can get on his side about something, he'll open up."

"That's good advice, I think," Aya said. "I'll figure something out."

"Yeah, well, while you're figuring, here's a freebie, but don't tell him you heard it from me: The thing that Jack Carter cares about more than anything else in the world is his little girl."

"Melanie," Aya said, remembering the old couple from her first night in town.

"That's her. Anyway, if you didn't know, she's crippled. Four years ago, Jack was driving home at night, and a drunk hit him head-on at about seventy miles an hour. Jack's poor wife Lydia was killed instantly, and Melanie shattered both legs. She lost all sensation in them, and she's never been able to walk since. Jack walked away without a scratch, even though the truck caught fire and burned right through the cab." Nancy shook her head regretfully. "I don't think he can forgive himself now, for coming out fine when everybody else lost so much. But now, I think it was his powers that saved him, even back then before he knew he had them."

Aya thought that might be the case, as well, and said so. "Fire can't hurt me if I don't let it," she explained, thinking about the vision she had just had, and the flames bowing down. "And sometimes I can heal myself."

Nancy's eyebrows went up at that. "Yeah? Wish I could do that. No, maybe I don't. Anyway, two more things, and I'm done. First, Jack will never have to work again in his life, because, lucky for him, the drunk lived. Thank heaven for insurance laws, right? Melanie is set for life, too. Second, Jack feels even guiltier, because the one thing he can't do, even with all his power, is heal Melanie. He has no idea why."

That gave Aya pause. "It doesn't make any sense. If he can heal other organisms—which is something I can't do—it shouldn't matter that it's his daughter."

'Hey, you're the expert." Nancy handed a slip of paper to Aya, then reached for the door handle. "There's my cell phone number. Call me if you need any more help, but just remember that people are cautious around here. I won't be able to just talk most of the time—I'll have to get back to you." With a last breath of cool air, she slipped out the door, and was gone.

Eve ran over the scrub grass, her tennis shoes pounding. Overhead, angry clouds swirled, violet on black and gray. Lightning flashed behind the clouds, sometimes piercing through to stab at the earth. Hot wind slapped at her face, trying to hold her back, to slow her down enough for the creature to catch up. It came on, the monstrous half-man, snarling as it run. Its club foot didn't slow it down; it ran with the ferocity of an animal, some feral wolf gone mad in its haste to kill her.

Eve could feel the power building in her, power she had almost forgotten. It pulsed behind her eyes, in her ears. It drove her onward, faster, faster. Sometimes, if she strained her ears, she could almost hear the mitochondria whispering—

Those were the times when the monster gained ground on her, so she pushed them away and ran. A quick glance back told her that the other man, the normal one, was chasing the monster even as it was chasing her. She knew that the man would never catch it in time; it was too close. If there was to be an end, it was up to her.

She heard it before she saw it: The groaning of the oil rigs. Suddenly she was there, and she ran under the tall derrick. In the dim light from the sky, she saw two figures stretched out on the ground, staring sightlessly into the sky. One was a girl about Eve's age, with long, black hair wild around her head. The other, she saw with rising horror, was Aya.

The monster was almost on her. The power in her body reached a howling crescendo, just as the clouds burst above her, bombarding the dry ground with hot rain. suddenly, as she had never done before, she _heard_ the mitochondria scream, NOW—

--She spun toward the monster, slashing forward with both hands, and lightning erupted from her palms. The blast caught the monster and hurled it backward, yammering, straight into the chest of the man. Both collapsed to the ground, and in the last sparking light of her lightning, Eve saw that the man and the monster had the same face.

The world spun around her, and she knew she was going to awaken. Just before the light poured into the darkened world, she heard a single sentence: _"This is the man Aya seeks."_

"So you're sure this was a vision, and not just some dream?" Kyle said. "How can you be sure?"

Eve growled with impatience. "Kyle, I might look normal, but I'm not your everyday kid. You know that. Can't you just trust me?"

"I wish I could, Eve, you know that. But I can't see flying to Texas just based on a dream. If you can prove this to me, we'll go."

Eve lifted her right hand to eye level, and snapped her fingers. A steady flame popped into existence at the end of her index finger. "How's this? A week ago, I didn't have any powers at all. Now, they're back. They're all back. Is that enough sign for you?"

Kyle's jaw worked for a minute, but nothing came out. Finally, he reached for his cell phone. "Go get on the Internet, and get me the number for Delta."

Three hours later, and two carry-on bags heavier, Kyle and Eve flew out of New York.

Author's note: This chapter has been a long time, a VERY long time, in coming, and if I had any loyal readers, they are probably long gone. Still, for anyone who remembers it, and for anyone who may be discovering it for the first time, please enjoy this story. Hope to put up more soon. Keep in mind, please, that chapters have been written over the course of several years, on several computers, in several locations, so I have not always had the benefit of having my prior text available to refer to. Any discrepancies in content, therefore, should be forgiven, and will hopefully be corrected soon. As always, your comments, questions, and reviews are welcome, especially if you discover a problem with the plot. Parasite Eve is a great story, and I only hope to add to it. Thanks againTimewalkerauthor.


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